DIE HARD: Third Strike
by darkwriter
Summary: This is the way the third movie in the trilogy should have gone. It starts a lot like the movie, but keep reading.
1. Chapter One

DIE HARD: THIRD STRIKE **DIE HARD: THIRD STRIKE**  
  
_CHAPTER ONE_  
        The day was December 24. It had been four years since the incident in the airport. John McClaine rested his head back on the pillow behind him. It had been even longer than that since he truly became famous. When the Nakatomi building in Los Angeles was invaded by terrorists, he took eleven of them down individually all by himself. That was the day he became relatively famous, and it was so many years ago. Now, he was just another cop fighting criminal scum in the very heart of crime: New York City.  
        John was riding in a black limousine. He was sitting in one of the seats toward the center of the vehicle. To his left was Inspector Walter Cobb, and every other chair in the limo was occupied by a federal agent.         "Okay," John spoke up, "I've dealt with the FBI before. Now, do you mind telling me what's going on?"         "We were hoping you could tell us," the man behind him said. "The terrorist who blew up Benweed Teller just an hour ago asked for you to show up by the payphone on the corner of 3rd Avenue and Main Street at noon. The guy spoke with a German accent and said if you don't show up he'll blow up something else. Do you know who it is?"         John shook his head. "There was only one German terrorist group that I have ever encountered, and they no longer exist." John felt no need to describe the details any further, and ever since the airport, John didn't really want to be recognized as a hero anymore. All he wanted, like almost everyone else, was to retire and live in luxury for the rest of his life.         "Well you've probably ticked off so many terrorists that you've forgotten half of them," Walter suggested. He always had great comments like that.         Before John could reply, the driver spoke up: "We're already here, with a minute to spare."         John stepped out of the vehicle and walked toward the payphone. As soon as he got to it, it rang as if it had been perfectly timed. He picked it up and said, "Hey, I'm here."         "Hello John McClaine of the New York police department. It's so nice to finally meet you. Let me introduce myself. My name is Simon."         "Okay, Simon. What do you want?"         "I'd like to play a game: Simon says. When I tell you to do something, you shall do it or else someone will die, possibly yourself. Now, Simon says that this telephone is wired to a bomb powerful enough to destroy the city block. Simon says that if you try to disarm it or try to run, and the bomb will be set off by a remote detonator."         John had to fight back the urge to run as fast as possible out of there. He knew that if he did, many would die. He was sick of being the hero, but he had no choice. "I promise you I won't do either, but what do I do?"         "Solve this puzzle. I made it simple for you, since you seem to be lacking in mathematical knowledge. The sum of all the numbers between one and one-hundred can be discovered in seconds. I'll give you sixty. Call me back at 555-1 and the square of the digits' sum."         "What? I don't understand." The phone line went dead. John returned the phone to the hook. _Okay,_ he thought, _how do I do this? My math teacher in the 8th Grade said something about this. I don't have time to add 1, 2, 3,... and all the numbers up to 100 together, do I? Come on, think, John, think!_ He scanned his brain for solutions and none were discovered. _1+2+3...+100. _Then it came to him. _Wait! 1+100 = 2+99 = 3+98! A pair of each of the numbers add up to be 101. Now I just multiply 101 by the number of 101's that there are. Let's see... they all make pairs with each other up to 50 and 51. So, there are fifty 101's in the answer. 50 times 101 equals 5050._ Moving quickly, he snatched the phone up as he figured out the rest. _5+0+5+0=10, and 10 squared is 100._ Having discovered the number, he dialed 555-1100.         After one ring, Simon answered. "Hello again, John. And your answer is...?"         "5050 is the answer. How could I have figured out your phone number if I hadn't solved it?"         "I'm just making absolutely sure you did it right. I won't spare your life for an extraordinary guess. By the way, you did quite well. Now, I have a similar, yet bigger new assignment for you. I'll tell it in a poem so simple, even you in your stupidity should be able to figure out."         John sighed. "Okay, what is it?"         "Simon says: letter-number of tremendous force is inside youthly inquisition. Alter it from its present course since its single talent shalt cause demolition."         "What is that supposed to mean?"         "You figure it out, John. Good luck."  
  



	2. Chapter Two

DIE HARD: THIRD STRIKE **DIE HARD: THIRD STRIKE**  
  
_CHAPTER TWO_         After spending half an hour with the FBI trying to figure out the puzzle without success, John was exhausted. Being in the limousine just made his stomach sicker. Now there was another bomb somewhere, and they didn't even have a clue about where it was.         "You want a cigarette, John?" Walter asked.         "Nah," John replied. "My wife thinks it's a nasty habit."         "If we can't solve his riddle," one of the Feds suggested, "we should probably start searching for the bomb."         "Search for the bomb! We don't even know who the terrorist is!"         "Actually," one of the Feds corrected him, "we've got a pretty good idea. A terrorist leader named Peter Crieg has been sighted in New York. He was born Simon Peter Gruber."         John was shocked. "Gruber?" he asked. "Is this some kind of joke?"         "I'm afraid not. Simon Gruber is Hans Gruber's brother. Perhaps you remember that Hans is the one you threw out the window of the Nakatomi building. We know quite a lot about Gruber's organization. His close assistant in crime is another German terrorist named Teresa Schulze. Also in his criminal organization are James Clayton and Frank Drum. They served together in the military for four years. Valentin Wirth is his organization's only real pilot. His explosives experts are Peter Von Hilgers and Anthony Böhm. He also has working for him a former German spy whom they call Kurt Ranis. We also believe he hired a German hitman named Mark Noth. That's all."         John sighed. "You could have told me that the brother of the man I threw off the Nakatomi building was behind all of this before I walked up to a phone loaded with explosives."         "It must have been C-4. That's the only stuff he could fit in the payphone that would blow up the entire block." The Fed shook his head. "He's just like his brother."         "Wait a second," John said. "'Simon says: letter-number of tremendous force...' that could be C-4."         "Yeah maybe," Walter said, "but what about the youthly inquisition thing?"         "I don't know," John said. "Someplace where kids ask questions. Then he said, 'Alter (the bomb) from its present course, since its single talent shall cause demolition.' What is a talent? Isn't that an amount of money?"         "No," Walter said, "it's a weight used back in Biblical times."         "It's equivalent to 75 pounds," someone informed them.         "75 pounds?" Walter was astonished. "You mean to tell me that 75 pounds of C-4 is set to explode somewhere in New York? That could kill a million people!"         John spoke up: "Where do kids ask questions, huh? Schools!"         Walter collapsed. "Oh god, he's going to kill hundreds of innocent children! We've got to search for it now!"         "We don't even know if that's what the riddle means," an FBI agent said. His beeper went off. "I take that back," the man said after looking at the message. "He says we've got until 1500 hours, and he won't allow the schools to be evacuated."         "He must have this limo bugged to know when exactly we figured out the puzzle," John said. "1500 hours is 3:00 this afternoon. What are we waiting for? Let's find that bomb. Have the police search all the schools in New York City." He exited vehicle and pulled out his cellphone. The limousine pulled away as John dialed up his wife's phone number.         "Hello," Holly answered, "this is Mrs. McClaine."         "Honey," John asked, "where are you?"         "I'm just going to the grocery store to pick up a few things. I figure if I take the day off work, I'd better get something done."         "Have you passed the school yet?"         "The school? Why?"         John sighed. "Never mind. They could be in danger at the school, so I'm going to take the kids out and I need you to be home so you can watch them. I'm sorry for pushing this on you, but it's very important that you do what I tell you."         There was a moment of silence. Then Holly spoke. "Okay, if you say so. I'm heading home right now."         "Thank you. I'll see you in a few hours. I love you." John turned the _off_ button on the phone and put it back in his pocket. His wife's job had made it easy to move to New York City. There was a Nakatomi building in New York City, so she was still senior executive. She hadn't become president of the company even though the former one, Joseph Takagi, was dead. _She's a very enduring woman to put up with me and all of the terrorists I run into,_ John thought.         John stood out on the sidewalk waving his hand around for a taxi. Finally, one pulled up next to him. Jumping in the back seat, he yelled, "Get me to Wilson Elementary School in less than five minutes."  
  



	3. Chapter Three

DIE HARD: THIRD STRIKE **DIE HARD: THIRD STRIKE**  
  
_CHAPTER THREE_         The taxi pulled into the school's parking lot. John opened the door and hurried toward the front door of the school. Before he got there, though, he heard two voices speaking in German behind him. He turned and saw that one of them had a 2-way radio and was speaking into it. The other added comments along the way. John followed them until they entered a Ford F-150 pick-up truck.         Simon Gruber was listening on the other line and replied in German. "Frank, I want you and James to keep an eye on things. Mark will be watching from up on the roof. Remember, if something goes wrong, tell me and I'll tell Anthony and Peter to set the bomb to explode and inform the others to get out of there."         "Okay." Frank Drum turned off the radio and told his comrade, "Keep an eye open."         John crawled up toward their car slowly, staying unnoticed. He couldn't be positive that they were working for Gruber, so he got his gun ready, stood up, and knocked on the door on the driver's side loudly.         "It's McClaine!" James Clayton shouted and pulled a 9mm Uzi out from the glove compartment.         John anticipated that. He bashed the window the second he saw the machine gun being revealed. Shattered glass spread throughout the vehicle. Then John stuck his gun inside the truck and fired at Clayton twice, wounding him in the shoulder. Then John dropped to the ground and rolled underneath the truck before the terrorist could retaliate.         "He got me!" Clayton hollered.         "He's going to pay," Drum assured the wounded soldier, grabbing his own machine gun.         Clayton was the first one to step out of the automobile. As soon as he did, John tackled him by his feet. Clayton fell headfirst onto the cement instantly. The Uzi escaped from Clayton's grasp and slid across the ground. John quickly crawled out from under the truck and pounded his fist on the back of Clayton's head.         Drum came out from the other side and yelled, "You're dead McClaine!"         John glanced up from where he was lying. Then he looked through the bottom of the truck to see Drum's feet so he could tell which way the terrorist was coming around the vehicle. The man hurried up around the front as John had expected him to.         As Drum came around with his Uzi ready, John drew and cocked his Beretta pistol. Then he carefully aimed it toward the corner of the vehicle where Drum was circling around. Drum paused on his trip for several seconds. As John waited, he looked under the truck to make sure Drum was still there. Then Drum circled the corner and saw his adversary with a gun drawn. Quickly, Drum moved back around the front as McClaine got one shot off. The bullet scratched the side of the truck but missed its target.         John rose from the ground with his handgun raised. _I've only got three bullets left,_ he reminded himself. Slowly, he headed away from the terrorists' truck and tried to find better cover. As he did, he kept his weapon trained on the truck Drum was hiding behind. That was when the other terrorist became conscious again.         This was not good. John aimed his weapon at Clayton. "Keep your hands where I can see them!" he shouted, hoping that the other guy would hear him and try to negotiate.         Apparantly neither terrorist was in a negotiating mood. The second Drum heard what John had said, he came out from his hiding place and fired at John with his Uzi. John ducked instantly and got very lucky as the barrage of bullets flew past him. Drum ran out of ammunition quickly and had to reload. After John had fallen down, Clayton took advantage of the opportunity by drawing the Smith & Wesson 1006 he had in his jacket and aiming it at McClaine's head.         John looked up and saw the pistol being pointed at his forehead. He instinctively twirled around across the ground on his back as bullets ricocheted all around him. Thinking quickly, he pointing the gun above his head and took two desperate shots. The first bullet bounced off the ground next to the ticked-off terrorist. The second one hit its target directly with startling accuracy. The bullet carved a deep hole into Clayton's forehead. The man's body fell down to the ground and remained motionless.         John immediately got up, knowing that it doesn't take long to stick a bullet cartridge in an Uzi. Surely enough, Drum had already loaded the machine gun and brought it back out for some more action. John kept his gun raised to his shoulders and ducked behind a Mercedes-Benz. The bullets blasted out from the Uzi again, shredding the car up badly. John had to lie on the ground to keep from being shot. _Why don't they make these cars taller?_ he asked himself.         John had a big problem. He was down to his final bullet and was fighting against a nearly fully-loaded Uzi. He laid his head down on the cement parking lot and kept his eyes open. He saw on the ground thirty feet from him was the dead terrorist's machine gun that had been knocked away. Unfortunately, the car he was taking refuge behind and another vehicle were parked inbetween the two of them. To make matters worse, Drum walked over in its direction and stood only a few inches from it.         John rapidly created a plan. He jumped over the Mercedes without difficulty. Drum saw him in the air and tried to fire, but by the time his weapon was ready, John had made it to the next car. Before Drum had a chance to think, John placed his pistol below the automobile and spent his final bullet nailing Drum in the leg.         Drum hollered out in pain and reached down toward his wound. As he did, John, without any hesitation, flipped over the car and snatched the Uzi from the ground. Before Drum could even pray, John pointed the gun right at the killer's stomach and released a long discharge of bullets. Each bullet ripped through the man's skin like paper and sent blood splattering everywhere. Finally, Drum collapsed to the ground.         John kept the Uzi in his right hand and went back to the other dead savage and took his Smith & Wesson. Hiding the weapon in his clothes, he hurried into the school. _They might be setting up the bomb right now,_ John thought.         Mark Noth, the assassin on top of the roof, looked down and saw McClaine enter the school building. He lifted his communicator to speak to all of the terrorists. "Everyone listen up! This is Mark. It McClaine is here! It looks like he killed Frank and James. Anthony and Peter, set the bomb for 10 minutes. That should give everyone enough time to get out. And will somebody please kill McClaine!"         John gripped the Uzi machine gun tightly. He didn't really know what he'd find. He knew that Von Hilgers and Böhm were explosives experts, so he suspected that they'd be the ones Simon would send to place the bomb.         John took out his cellular phone and called Inspector Cobb. "Walter, the bomb is in Wilson Elementary School," he said informatively.         "What?" Walter asked. "Are you positive?"         "Yeah, it's here. I want a bunch of cops, the bomb squad, and the fire department over here right away."         Walter sighed. "Won't that make Simon get ticked off and blow the school?"         A janitor walked down the hallway slowly, rolling his cleaning equipment along with him. When he saw McClaine, he instantly revealed a Spectre sub-machine gun. Before he could use it, John wasted him with the Uzi.         He returned the telephone to the side of his head. "I'm sure he's already ticked off: I waxed three of his boys. Just do it now!" On that note, he turned off the phone.         John walked around the school, having his gun ready in case of an encounter with terrorists and also preparing to conceal his gun if anyone else walked by him. He opened a door and walked into a stage room. It appeared as if the kids had done some kind of play rehearsal recently. There were props and decorations all over it. The wooden floor on the stage was about a foot tall.         Four terrorists dressed as office workers saw McClaine through the windows on the door and came into the room with their weapons drawn. John twirled around immediately and fired at them with the Uzi. They returned the fire and ducked down in an attempt to stay alive. John blasted one of them and then jumped behind a large arrangement of metal chairs. There were enough to prevent the terrorists from getting a clear shot for the time being.         Then something happened that John didn't expect at all. Gunfire starting raining from above down on him. John looked up to see the hitman Mark Noth standing up on the roof holding an MP5K and pointing it down through the glass right above the New York officer. Noth continued firing as John tried hiding underneath some of the chairs.         Finally, all the bullets shred completely through the giant window and it broke apart. All the broken pieces of glass came crashing down on John. He saw it coming and quickly rolled to the side of the room. He was safe from the broken glass coming from up above on him, but the pieces still bounced off the chairs and cut into his skin. John turned onto his back and shot up at the ceiling. Noth had run out of ammunition and laid down where McClaine could not shoot him as he reloaded his weapon.         The other guys fired, but they couldn't hit their target because John was taking refuge behind a large stack of boxes for props. John lifted the Uzi above the boxes and fired at the terrorists behind him. Then he ran out from his cover and dove behind the stage platform. _Not even Noth can shoot me when I'm here,_ John thought.         "He's behind the stage," one of the terrorists said. "You two circle around and attack him from over there while I go around the other way."         Now John was in trouble. They were going to surround him and then waste him without difficulty. Now he had to figure out how to get out of there. _Think, John! Think!_ He glanced over at the stage and got an idea.         The terrorists came around with their machine guns raised. As they came around, they prepared to fire. However, no one was there. In confusion, they looked around and wondered where he was. They each searched around the area and found nothing.         "I thought we had him cornered," one of them said. "Maybe he jumped onto the stage while we were circling around." Taking his advice, each of them slowly climbed up onto the platform and looked around, but there was no sign of McClaine.         Suddenly, bullets started blasting all over the place. The bullets were coming from underneath the platfrom. Little pieces of wood broke apart from the structure with each shot. Before any of the terrorists realized what was going on, each one had been shot repeatedly and was lying dead on the stage.         Then, John's head came up through the bottom of the thing, breaking a section of the platform. In the silence he said loudly, "Well, I wasn't expect an encore."         Noth had his weapon reloaded and fired again at John. The exhausted police officer jumped across the stage and behind the curtains. He checked the bullet cartridge and found it was empty. Throwing the useless gun away, he pulled out the Smith & Wesson that he stole from the deceased terrorist. Noth kept firing, and his bullets shred through the curtains like a knife through melted butter.         John lifted his handgun and carefully aimed his weapon. He knew that Noth was a great German hitman, so with the man's great position and loaded sub-machine gun, hitting John would not be difficult. John knew he didn't have much time to sit there and aim, so he took his best shot.         The bullet had missed its target: the man's head. However, it had blasted straight through Noth's shoulder. The hitman clasped his shoulder in surprise and accidently dropped his machine gun. John rushed to it and picked it up. Then he shot at Noth until the hitman fell down through the opening in the ceiling. He landed right on a standing chair, and the chair snapped immediately.         John stepped back out into the hallway. He noticed that the walls of the stage room were very thick. They were probably sound-proof so that when a play was being rehearsed in the school, the other children wouldn't be distracted by the noise. That would mean that no one heard the gun shots.         Two terrorists entered the area. One of them saw McClaine and stayed back. The other guy pulled out his Uzi and aimed carefully without John even knowing. The terrorist had the New York police officer's head sighted and pulled slowly back on the trigger.         Two shots went off. The man fell to the ground. John twirled around to see another police officer holding a smoking police pistol. The cop was tall: about 6 feet and 8 inches. There was no emotion at all on his face. There was nothing about him that John saw about him, except that his skin was a very dark black color.         "Thanks for the help," John said. "Who are you?"         "You can call me Inspector Smith," he responded.         The other terrorist came out into the clearing. In his left hand was a little fourth-grade girl. In his right hand was a gun pointed at the child's head. Both John and Inspector Smith moved their weapons so that they pointed at the psycho. No one moved.         "Drop your guns or she dies," the guy said.         John started lowering his Smith & Wesson. "Okay, just don't hurt her."         Inspector Smith's pistol fired. The bullet hit the criminal and killed him instantly. The little girl screamed loudly as the man fell to the floor next to her in a pool of blood. Then she hurried out of the school while continuing her screaming all the way.         John was amazed. "Are you crazy man?" Then he shook his head. "Nevermind. We don't have time to stand here. I'll sound the fire alarm. Make sure everyone is out in time including yourself."         As the inspector did as he was instructed, John set off the fire alarm. All he could do was hope that everyone would get out of there in time. As teachers, the principal, children, and janitors went out of the building in an orderly fashion, John decided to make sure everyone got out safely. He rushed to the evacuated office and spoke over the intercom.         "Hello," he said. "Everyone leave the building calmly and quickly. This is not a drill or a prank."         John figured that would take care of it and headed back out. He wanted to check outside to make sure his kids had gotten out okay, but he wanted to find the bomb. _If I were a bomb expert,_ John asked himself, _where would I hide 75 pounds of C-4? It would have to be in a bathroom or closet or some other concealed area._         In a nearby storage room, Von Hilgers and Böhm, the bomb experts, had just finished with the C-4. They placed all of it in a relatively secluded area of the room after setting it to explode in one minute.         "Shouldn't we set it for ten?" Böhm asked.         "No," Von Hilgers replied. "The others have had enough time to get out, so one minute should be enough."         Böhm grabbed the communicator and informed their leader of the current events. "We've finished planting the bomb," he informed Simon. "It took a while because I guess we forgot that so much C-4 would take this long to set up. How is the real plan working out?"         Gruber sighed. "Well, thanks to McClaine, we'll have to start early. Unfortunately, the traffic is bad too. We've informed Felix on the delay."         John, who had been listening behind the door, stumbled into the room with his gun raised. "Keep your hands up!" he hollered, and they obeyed. "Now, disarm the bomb."         Böhm lowered his arms. "What are you going to do: shoot me?" His left hand rose upward. In it, he had a gun. John shot him twice before he could use it. As the cop was busy doing that, Von Hilgers ducked behind equipment and took out his own weapon.         John fired in Von Hilgers' direction and then trained his gun on Böhm. "Where is Gruber?" John asked. "What did you mean by 'the real plan'?"         "Go to hell!" Böhm shouted.         After that, John knew that neither one of them would tell him anything or disarm the bomb for him. He hurried out of the room and locked the door so that Von Hilgers couldn't escape. Then he ran like mad for the nearest exit to the school.         The ground shook tremendously. John felt fire soar past him. The entire acre erupted. The roof of the school was sent up ten feet in the air and landed back down in the flaming mess. Glass from the windows was sent flying out at him. His skin felt like it was boiling from all the heat. A police car flipped over twice in the air and broke into pieces upon impact with the parking lot. In just seconds, though it seemed like hours, all was quiet again.         "McClaine," a cop shouted, "you'll want to see this."         John gazed over to the voice as the officer brought one of Gruber's terrorists over to him. "Okay," John said, "tell me where Gruber is."         "You think I'm going to tell you that?" the restrained criminal replied.         "Did he have anything on him?" John asked the cop who arrested the man.         "Besides his gun, just a watch and this newspaper."         John flipped through the newspaper quickly. He found, on the second page, the name Felix Anders written in pen. Below the name was an article about the United Nations. "Who is Felix Anders?" he asked the scumbag. "What's his connection with the U.N. and Gruber?" Knowing that the guy wouldn't answer, John thought for a minute. Then he rushed into the nearest cop car with keys inside and started the engine.         "Wait!" someone yelled, opening the door and stepping inside. It was Inspector Smith. "This is my car! What are you doing?"         "I have to borrow it," John answered, pulling out of the parking lot and onto the road. "What's this thing's top speed?"         "What's the rush?" Inspector Smith asked.         "I've got a hunch," John replied. 


	4. Chapter Four

DIE HARD: THIRD STRIKE **DIE HARD: THIRD STRIKE**  
  
_CHAPTER FOUR_         Gruber's giant van came into the parking area of the United Nations Trade Centre. Eleven terrorists stepped out of the vehicle. Each was looked like a representative. They did not appear to have any weapons on them. They approached the front of the building and found two guards.         "Good morning," Gruber said to them. "I'm Niklas K. Armster, the German councilman."         "They told us you were coming," one of them said. "Let's see your ID."         Gruber gave them the identification. When they gestured that he may proceed, he turned back toward his troops. "Philipp," he said to one of them, "wait here. Your presence is unnecessary at this time." Though his name was not Philipp, the man he was talking to knew to wait there as Gruber and the rest of his men proceeded.         They entered and came to six guards and a metal detector. Gruber went through the detector first and it didn't go off. All of the others followed with the same result. After they were through, Gruber suddenly bashed the video camera taping them and made it look like an accident.         "Oh goodness," he said. "How clumbsy of me."         Hearing the codeword _clumbsy_, each terrorist quickly pulled out a silenced handgun. Each guard was shot several times before any of them could get a shot off. Outside, the terrorist out there saw what had happened inside and pulled out his own silenced pistol. After killing both guards, he walked inside.         "It's a good thing Mr. Anders took out the metal detectors like he was supposed to," Kurt Ranis, the former German spy, said.         "Are the U.N. buildings always this heavily guarded?" Teresa Schulze asked.         "Only when they have forty million dollars in their vault," Anders replied.         Gruber spoke to his soldiers. "Listen up everyone! We've got forty minutes at the most before the United States government finds out what we're doing here and sends their army, airforce, and marines. Now, there are three cameras in the hallway. We want to take down as few cameras as possible to avoid suspicion. As soon as we get to the camera monitoring room, we can go wherever we want. To get there while avoiding the hallway, all we have to do is go through the room up ahead, shoot the rotating camera there and possibly a guard or two, and open the next door, bringing us to our destination. Group A will come with me to do that while Group B waits for our message on the radio. We keep using silencers until I say otherwise over the radio. Let's go."         Half of the terrorists followed Gruber. They surveyed the room and saw that the camera was not pointing at them. Then they shot it and walked in. The guard standing there was caught on surprise. They shot him immediately and entered the next room.         "Nobody move," Gruber yelled. "Put all of your hands up and move into the corner now!" All of the people who were watching the tv's did as they had been instructed. Gruber lifted his radio and glanced at his watch. "Obejective A has been completed," Gruber informed them. "You have exactly two minutes to get to the vault. Go!"         Group B hurried down the hall with their silenced handguns ready. They blasted three guards without difficulty. Reciting the plan they had created, the terrorists ran down the hallway to the elevators and pressed the _down_ button.         After the men had entered the elevator and moved to the basement, Gruber looked at the video cameras on that floor. "There are three guards in the room you are coming into," Gruber informed his men. "Then you'll come to the vault, which Felix should have taken care of pretty soon."         Gruber was right. Anders had told the others to check on the money, and they were doing it. The only person in the building with the vault's 20-digit combination code was at work, rapidly entering the combination into the mini-computer. The man made very sure that Anders and the two other men there did not see the numbers he used. Finally, he entered the final number and the vault opened.         "It seems to all be there," the man said upon looking inside. "I don't think we need to count it all."         When Anders heard those words, he knew that the vault was open and the money was right there. Moving quickly, he pulled out a silenced Falcon and shot all three guards. Two bullets went into each of them. One of them, still alive, shouted at the assassin.         "You'll never get out of here alive!" he hollered. "There are over forty armed soldiers in here, each armed with a weapon."         Anders reloaded his handgun. Gruber's men, having wasted the guys in the other room without difficulty or loss of life, came into the room. Anders pointed the gun at the wounded soldier's head and said, "We have control of the building."         The warrior continued. "If any of the guards press the alarm button that each one of them has, you'll all be locked in. Also, the U.S. government shall be notified and will not hesitate in coming over here and forcing you to put every penny back.         "Hold that thought," Anders said, pulling out the communicator. "Yo Simon, how about you deactivate the alarm system. The code is 12-98-38-45." Anders smiled and shot the man.         After deactivating the security system, Gruber cut the phone lines. It was easy, since he knew the deactivation code. Then he turned on his communicator again and asked Anders, "How much money is there?"         Anders chuckled. "1,000,000 American dollars, 2,311,860 Deutsche marks, 1,182,035.25 euros, 706,710 pounds,..."         Gruber sighed. "How much total?"         "One million dollars worth in forty different currencies," Anders said cheerfully. "It's just like I told you. I knew this plan would work."         "Listen up, everyone," Gruber shouted into the radio. "We have all forty million dollars. We are in control, so silencers are no longer needed. You may take out the powerful weaponry at this time." Then Gruber turned off his radio and took out a machine gun. Pointing it at the unarmed U.N. workers they had captured, he said, "It's nothing personal. It's just that one of you might have a cellular phone. I promise you: It won't hurt. At least I don't think it will." The gunshots and screaming that followed could be heard by everyone on the floor. **_TO BE CONTINUED..._**


	5. Chapter Five

DIE HARD: THIRD STRIKE **DIE HARD: THIRD STRIKE**  
  
_CHAPTER FIVE_         The police car blasted through the streets speedily. Its sirens were blaring loudly and flashing brightly. "Okay, Inspector Smith... do you have a first name?"         The cop sighed. "Yes. Ronald's the name." He paused, then tried to change the subject. "Where are we going?"         "We're going to the United Nations Trade Centre. I have a hunch that we'll find Mr. Simon Gruber there."         "Wait a second! Why would a German terrorist want to blow up any U.N. building? Germany is a part of the United Nations."         "He doesn't care about his country," John replied. "There has to be something else there, probably money."         "Why would there be money in any United Nations building?"         "Maybe it was an emergency."         "So why did he waste his explosives on the school?"         "He didn't use it all. 75 pounds of highly-explosive C-4 would have made a much bigger bang. He kept a lot of it. Besides, sending police all over the place searching for a bomb kept the cops busy."         "But then you found the bomb and made them accelerate their plans?"         "Exactly, Ron."         "Then who is Anders? Could he be their target?"         "No. He's the traitor in the United Nations. The guy probably knows right when they check for the money and instructs a time for Gruber and his men to siege the building."         "This is all just a theory, though."         "It's an educated guess," John replied. "By the way, Ron, why did you fire at that terrorist in the school when he had a hostage? You could have killed her."         "I'm sure her parents have her life insurance paid up," came the cold reply.         "Seriously, why are you so heartless? Innocent people will be getting killed if you don't start thinking."         "I don't care." Ron seemed to have lost all sensitivity for human life. "After you've been through what I have in the police force, life doesn't really seem to matter anymore. Once I let a killer go because he had a hostage. Then, that same guy bombed a building, slaughtering hundreds. Now you tell me, McClaine, was it worth it to save that one life while killing innocent millions in the process?"         "The people he killed afterward was not your fault," John responded after putting much thought into the matter. "You can't see into the future. You have to save as many lives as you can. If a killer gets loose in the process of saving a life, that's a sacrifice that must be made."         "So, it doesn't matter how many die. Just as long as one person lives." Ron shook his head. "I don't want to talk about it."         "Ron, are you racist?"         The officer was surprised at his inquiry. "What?"         "It's just that you don't seem to like me or any of the other white cops very much and keep to yourself. Maybe I'm just imagining things."         "I don't really like anybody."         The police vehicle pulled up next to the U.N. building. John stepped out of the car and said, "Wait out here. If I'm right, they probably see us already. If I don't come back in twenty minutes, call the police."         "Okay," Ronald replied.         "Do you have a cell phone?" John asked         "Yes," Ron replied.         "Give me the number and I'll call you if something happens."         "Okay," Ron said and gave him the number. "Good luck!"         John charged into the building. The first thing he saw when he entered were the six dead guards. _I really hate it when I'm right!_ John thought. He pulled out the Smith & Wesson he had been using and kept it raised as he moved along the hallway. Although he saw no one, Gruber was watching him in the camera room. As John entered the elevator, Gruber sneered.         "You think you can beat us McClaine?" Gruber yelled. After the doors had shut and the elevator had been moving for a while, Gruber turned off the power to the elevator John was in. Then the terrorist leader turned his radio back on and said, "Elevator 2 has been shut down. Use the other one to." Gruber smiled. "We'll leave John in there and then blow up the building with him still inside."         John was riding up in the elevator when it stopped functioning. The lights went out, and all was dark. After pressing every single floor number, John realized it was useless. _A Christmas without terrorists would be nice._ He took out his cell phone and dialed Ron's number.         "Are you calling already John?" Ron answered.         "Yeah, but I'm experiencing some serious deja vu."         "Not already! I haven't written my will yet."         "Yeah," John said, "I hear that a lot. Listen; Gruber is here. Call the police right now."         He turned off the cell phone and sighed. He probably should have planned ahead for another terrorist strike on Christmas. Now he was stuck in an elevator between floors in a building again. Knowing that the doors wouldn't open, John climbed up through the door on top and saw a door leading to the third floor. He tried pulling it open, but it was to no avail. Banging on it loudly and hoping someone would hear was his final solution. _If I had a crowbar, I'd pry it open._         The doors started opening slightly. Someone on the other end was prying them open little by little. The gap got bigger and bigger as the man did. After the doors were far enough apart, a block of wood was put between them. After that, the U.N. guard looked down at the stranger quizzically.         "Who are you?" he asked.         "I'm a New York cop," John replied, showing off his badge. "The name's John McClaine."         3 of Gruber's terrorists suddenly barged into the room. John ducked down when he saw them. The United Nations guard looked back and saw them too late. A dozen gunshots went off, sending the man falling down onto the elevator roof.         "What was he doing over there?" one of them asked dumbly.         Before they could figure it out, John gave them a big hint. He rose from the elevator with the Smith & Wesson handgun in his hands and shot all three of them. That used up all of the bullets in his gun. He took their machine guns and snatched up one of their communicators.         John moved into the next room. He found a bag stuffed with C-4 and a timer set counting down from 25 minutes. _Why are they blowing this place up?_ he wondered. _They're only here for the money._         Gruber's voice suddenly came booming from the radio. "Valentin has just arrived with the helicopter. Everyone has 25 minutes to get out!"         "How ya doing Gruber?" John yelled. "I was curious: Why are you blowing up this building if you've already got the millions from the vault?"         "McClaine! How did you ever get out of the elevator? The money is for us to use. We're blowing it all up because there are some very rich gentlemen in the Middle East who will pay us 200 million dollars on top of the 40 million we've already collected to destroy this U.N. building. I don't think they're big United Nations fans. Anyway, you can give yourself up now and come down the only operative elevator to the bottom floor, or you can die up wherever you are. The choice is yours, but I have five nice gentlemen waiting there for you. What do you say?"         Since John did not reply, Gruber looked at the elevator information telling him what floor it was on. The numbers rose up to 3. After a short period, the elevator descended to floor 2. "He's coming," Gruber said over the radio. "I'm glad you've taken me up on my offer, McClaine."         Gruber's five guards were ready by the elevator. They each had powerful submachine guns in their hands pointed at the doors. The number above the doors changed to 1 and they opened up. Inside was a very small portion of the C-4 and the detonator counting down from 3 seconds.         The entire room instantly exploded brightly. Each terrorist was instantaneously disintegrated. What was left of the wall behind the elevator crumbled apart. Within seconds, the room's roof fell down into the fiery mess. Dozens of flames showered into the rooms nearby.         John began laughing. "There go five of your boys. How many do you have now, Gruber? You must be down to six or seven including you and your pilot Wirth."         "I should have known that John McClaine would try to be Rambo," Gruber said. "But do you really think you can beat all of us? We still outnumber you seven to one."         "Like I said to your brother," John said, "yipee-kiyay."         "Listen, everyone: Elevator 1 no longer works either. Take the stairs if you have to. Any volunteers to go kill McClaine and deploy another bomb? He's on the third floor, probably somewhere near the elevator he's just wasted."         "I'll get him," Ranis said. "I've got three other guys up here too. We'll be out in no time."         Gruber smiled. "Thank you, Kurt, for ridding us of that pest. So long, McClaine."         As Gruber, Schulze, and Anders left the building, Ranis and his followers marched up the stairs from the second floor to the third with their guns ready and a new detonator. They reached the top of the stairs and found no one. Together as a group, they walked through each room and couldn't find him.         They finally came to a new room. No one seemed to be in it either. Then, as they got ready to go, bullets started shooting all over the place. The terrorists started dropping like flies. Glass flew all over the area. Ranis, using the quick reflexes he got from being an ex-spy, immediately dove into the next room, where he could not be shot at. Two of the other terrorists were filled with bulletholes. The other one was on the ground with bullet in the leg.         John stepped through the window he was standing just outside of. There were pieces of glass all over the floor. The shreds snapped as John walked across the room with his Smith & Wesson drawn. "I know someone else is alive," John said. "Four guys came up here and only three are on the ground. Just give yourself up. I'll let you live if you do."         "Why would I do that?" Ranis asked with a chuckle. "Some cop who watches too many movies is no match for an experienced German spy."         John traced the voice into the other room. He slowly walked in with his handgun raised and looked around. Suddenly, Ranis fell from the ceiling and tackled McClaine. As he landed on his stomach, the gun bounced away from him.         "You're good," Ranis said as he pulled out his machine gun and pointed it at the hero's head. "Unfortunately, you're also dead!"         John flipped around onto his back and kicked the gun, causing it to point away when Ranis pulled the trigger. Wasting no time, John jumped up and pounded the terrorist hard in the face. The punch sent him walking backwards back into the other room where he tripped over one of his dead compadres. John rushed into the room and saw the one wounded soldier with a bullet in his leg aiming his machine gun toward him. Moving quickly, John fell to the ground and snatched up a dead terrorist's weapon. Then he rolled forward and backwards across the ground as bullets blasted all around him. He pointed the gun barrel past his head and fired as he moved. As John used up the rest of the ammunition, he realized the terrorist was already dead. Then he turned toward Ranis.         The man had gotten up from the floor and shot a few rounds at John. "Give it up!" he said. "You're finished!"         Unfortunately, it seemed that Ranis was right. The guy was holding his machine gun and one of his dead friends' machine guns, meaning the only loaded weapon remaining was thirty feet away from John next to the terrorist he just shot. He had one terrorist corpse lying right next to him, but with no weapon.         Gathering together an idea, John lifted the body up so that it the front half of him completely and ran towards Ranis. He fired, but all the bullets hit the dead terrorist's body. As John got close to the enemy, he stopped running and threw the body with full force at the ex-spy. As the man struggled to get the dead warrior off him, John snatched up a sharp piece of broken glass off the ground and jammed it deeply into his adversary's chest. The defeated soldier fell backwards and crashed on the hard metal ground.         John grabbed one of the machine guns and hurried towards the stairs. Then he heard a noise and turned back to see Ranis standing up shakily, with a machine gun trained on John's head. Immediately, the cop ran towards the broken window, aiming back at the bag of C-4. As the bullets flew past him, John jumped out the window and fired at the bag.         The top floor erupted into a magnificant explosion. John felt the heat surrounding him as fire engulfed the top story of the building. John fell to the ground with a loud and painful thud. He had no time to waste, though. He quickly hurried away from the area as all the rest burst into flames. 


	6. Chapter Six

DIE HARD: THIRD STRIKE **DIE HARD: THIRD STRIKE**  
  
_CHAPTER SIX_  
        "Dang it!" Schulze exlaimed as the building exploded. "Kurt and the others must not have gotten out in time."         "That's okay," Gruber replied with a smile. "That just means more money for us. If McClaine is still alive, he'll do anything to get his wife back. Then we can have revenge along with the millions of dollars we now own."         Schulze looked down at Mrs. McClaine, who was held closely by her side. "But if McClaine is dead, getting his wife was a waste of time."         Gruber sighed. "Well, it's too late now." He walked toward the engaged helicopter and got in the front next to Valentin Wirth, the pilot.         "Is she coming?" the traitor Felix Anders asked from the backseat.         "Absolutely," Gruber replied. "She's just stopping to say some final words to our dead comrades."         Schulze jabbed her handgun into Holly's back and forced her towards the helicopter. Then, from nowhere, Officer Ron Smith jumped out with his weapon drawn. "Put the gun down lady!"         "Don't move or I'll shoot her!" Schulze threatened.         Ronald thought for a moment. He could try to shoot her in the head, but he could miss and hit Mrs. McClaine. Not wanting to live with the guilt of directly murdering an innocent woman, he dropped his gun. "Just don't shoot her," he said.         "Bad choice!" Schulze hollered and shot him in the chest. Without hesitation, she hopped into the back of the helicopter after forcing Holly inside.         John ran full speed toward the helicopter as it lifted off the ground. Ron tossed his gun up in John's direction. Catching it, he kept running and jumped up just in time to grab onto one of the two bottom legs. He pulled himself up and through both legs. Then his cellphone rang. He barely heard it over the noise of the helicopter.         Turning it on, he said, "Hello?"         "So, you are alive after all John," Gruber said with a chuckle. "I hear the noise of our helicopter through my cellphone, and so I figure you just came out of the building before it exploded and you are looking up at us as we escape. I know the police will be here shortly, and I want you to know that if we see a single cop car on our trip, your wife's body parts will be evenly distributed throughout New York City. I trust that we have your cooperation."         "Think again, dirtbag!" John yelled as he shot up through the bottom of the vehicle and killed Schulze in the backseat. A few of the bullets shred through the money and put holes through it.         "Teresa, my love!" Gruber yelled, but it was too late. "You're crazy McClaine! You missed your wife by mere inches."         "The bullets would never even graze her," John replied. "You always put the hostage in the middle seat so that when you land, she won't have a chance to run away."         "You're underneath us!" Gruber realized. He fired downwards until Wirth stopped him.         "It's not smart to put bulletholes through helicopters," Wirth said.         Glass suddenly flew through the front seats. John's right arm came flying through the window next to Gruber with a gun in its grasp. The gun fired twice at the pilot, instantly killing him. Gruber quickly pulled on John's arm, forcing him through the window and into the flying machine. Anders immediately pulled John into the back and punched him in the jaw as Gruber deperately tried to gain control of the helicopter, looked back only occasionally to see how Felix was doing.         John grabbed onto the terrorist's hair and bashed the back of his head through the window. "Have a nice trip!" John shouted as he opened the door and sent Anders falling many feet to his death.         Gruber frowned at the loss of all his partners. John didn't let him think about it too long, though, and he slammed the guy's head against the helicopter controls. With no pilot, the helicopter rapidly fell towards the ground. John hugged his wife and gave her a goodbye kiss. "I love you," he said, "so I'll be honest with you. We've only got one chance of surviving. Do what I say and we might live."         "I trust you," she said with a smile. "Let's allow Gruber to die in solitude."         The front of the helicopter suddenly collided with the ground. The whole vehicle shook violently, making it impossible for the couple to jump out. The helicopter went up slightly and headed back down again. The duo jumped out right then, landing flat on the ground and completely avoiding the twirling blades. They held each other close as they watched the chopper bounce along the ground a few times until it hit a big boulder. Not only did the helicopter explode, but everything within a 30-foot radius burst into flames. John and Holly were knocked backwards as the whole area lit up.         "Gruber must have kept some C-4," John explained to his wife.         "Well, there's another terrorist strike I've gone through with you!" Holly teased. "If you don't stop ticking so many people off, I'm going to have to get a divorce."         John laughed. "Unfortunately for you, you're stuck with me because you love me."         "I don't know," Holly said. "I'm starting to think terrorist bombings are kind of romantic!" John looked at her strangely. "I'm joking, John. It's just a joke."  
THE END 


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